


Call It a Knight

by spacehopper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Hawke had gone through a Templar phase when he was younger. Well, ‘gone’ might not be quite the right word.





	Call It a Knight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



Hawke sipped his wine and mulled over his options. On one hand, watching Hightown nobles flirt with Cullen was more entertainment than he usually got at these parties. On the other, other people flirting with Cullen wasn’t why Hawke had used a combination of bribery, blackmail and general skullduggery to get Cullen here.

Scooping up another glass of wine, he ducked around a querulous old man who’d apparently been a friend of his grandfather and narrowly avoided entrapment by one of his mother’s new friends, who had made it very clear she had eligible daughters and sons. It wouldn’t do to make Cullen jealous, after all.

As he neared his target, he look a moment to really take in what he was getting into. Cullen was, for once, out of that ridiculous armor Templars insisted on wearing. Instead he was dressed in what had to be his best outfit, the sort of finery a Fereldan of a respectable but not noble background might own. Which meant there was rather more fur than was strictly fashionable, but Hawke thought it was quite fetching. Cullen should wear fur more often. And even better, it seemed to have been sized when he was less muscular than he was now, stretching across his chest in a way that was rather appealing. All in all, a package Hawke was quite eager to unwrap.

“Sorry,” he said, pretending to stumble drunkenly into a woman who’d encircled Cullen’s arm with a possessive hand. On a whim, he filled her now empty hand with the wine. “Try the wine. I heard it comes from the vineyards of the Empress herself.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she took a sip, the aura of Orlesian royalty momentarily distracting her from her prize. And a moment was all Hawke needed. He slung an arm over Cullen’s shoulder, half dragging him into the study and locking the door behind him.

“Is the wine really from the Empress’s vineyards?” Cullen asked. He was rubbing at his hair nervously. Perhaps wondering why Hawke had accosted him and dragged him into an abandoned room. Which, fair enough. Hawke did have a reputation to uphold.

“It might be. Varric said it fell off a ship.” Hawke threw himself onto the couch, the only piece of furniture for sitting in the room. He’d made sure of it, personally removing every other potential seat beforehand. His mother had raised an eyebrow at the now rather crowded extra bedroom, but after twenty-six years, she was used to his antics. Truly a saint, his mother.

Cullen winced. “So it was stolen.” He was scanning the room, clearly trying to find somewhere else to sit. Hawke slid slightly closer to the center of the couch as he made his examination.

“Hmm, probably. Good thing you’re not a city guard. Then you’d have to report it. Only honorable thing to do.”

Finally defeated by the effort of remaining an awkward blond statue in the center of the room, Cullen walked over to Hawke and perched on the edge of the couch. Skittish, like some young colt. But Hawke had always been good with horses. 

“Serah Hawke, I must confess confusion as to why you were so insistent I attend this gathering. While I understand that your mother wished some assurance of your brother’s training and new position, you seemed to have a personal interest.”

“Can’t I also have a interest in my brother’s wellbeing?” Cullen gave him a doubtful look. Admittedly, he’d never tried to hid the constant verbal sparring between them, and Carver’s decision to join the Templars had made things even tenser. 

Which certainly didn’t figure into why he was doing this.

“Or maybe I have an interest in you.” He inched closer and draped his arm across the back of the couch. Cullen froze, cleared his throat.

“Me? I—what for?” He was rather red, so he wasn’t oblivious. And he also wasn’t as unreceptive as he’d been to the young nobles. Hawke tugged at the fur lining his own collar, itching his throat. It’d been a good decision to convince a tailor to make something for him in a more Fereldan style. The Marchers aped Orlesian fashion, and Orlesians customs, and no Fereldan was truly comfortable with that. Best to draw Cullen’s attention to the fact they were both foreigners here, despite Leandra herself being a Kirkwall native. 

“I hoped to chat a it about our shared home. The mud, the dogs, the darkspawn. Pleasant memories all around.” 

“You sound like you didn’t like it.”

“Ser Cullen.” Hawke pressed a hand to his breast. “I’m wounded. You’ve met my mabari.”

He actually perked up at that. A Fereldan through and through. Now if only Hawke were a mabari, he’d have this made. 

“A fine fellow. Do you keep him cooped up here?” 

“Not at all. I loan him out to Aveline. Sometimes he chews on criminals, sometimes on guards. All the variety a young mabari needs.” 

“Is that where he is tonight?”

The best lies were always the ones that were true.

“Yes, Aveline had a special mission for him. Top secret.” Or she had after Hawke had insisted she take him. Cal usually slept in his bed, and tended to whine if forced out. He didn’t want Cullen getting any ideas about the sleeping partner Hawke might prefer. Or for his dog to succeed where he’d failed.

“I’m sure he’ll do admirably.”

“But enough about me.” Well, his dog, rather. “Tell me about yourself. Where did you say you came from?”

“I didn’t. I’m from Honnleath, in the Hinterlands, not too far from Redcliffe. You’re from Lothering?”

An intentional redirect. So Cullen didn’t want to talk about himself? Well, Hawke had never been one to pry. Much. 

“I was actually born in a small village near Amaranthine. Moved to Lothering when I was a teenager. Perfect time for it.” He raised a suggestive brow. “I assume you were training to be a Templar, then. I always wondered what sort of things young recruits got up to.”

“Oh, plenty of things. Though I tried to remain dedicated to my studies.”

“My mother wishes I’d been dedicated.” Really wished he had been, and his father as well. He’d had a few stern talkings to about the dangers they all faced, a family with three apostates. And then there was that very memorable conversation with his father about losing control. He’d sworn off sex for an entire month after that. A true act of willpower. It was one of the things that made him such a skilled mage. 

“You’re a very dutiful son.” Cullen actually leaned forward. Family was important to him, then. That was—good to know. “I’ve seen how you’re always helping her.”

“Yes, well, not much family left.” And not really a topic he wanted to elaborate on. “So is it true, that Templars take vows of celibacy?”

He knew it wasn’t, of course, but plenty of people didn’t. And he didn’t actually want to chat with Kirkwall’s Knight-Captain about the struggles of growing up an agrarian apostate.

“What?” Cullen’s voice cracked. That was sort of cute. Hawke slid closer, bending his arm so that his fingers brushed Cullen’s shoulder. 

“Or is that not true?” Hawke’s eyes widened dramatically, the very picture of the noble ingenue he most certainly wasn’t. 

“I—some do, yes. But I haven’t,” Cullen said. “Is there a reason for this line of inquiry?” 

“You cannot possibly be this dense,” Hawke said. Which was a little rude, but if there were to get anywhere tonight, bluntness was likely required. 

“I’m flattered, I mean, you’re a very handsome man—” He was assiduously avoiding Hawke’s eyes and toying with the fabric of his pants. 

“Not interested in men?” He’d worried about that, but as his mother had always told him, you never get what you don’t try for. Though she probably hadn’t meant seducing Templars. “My sincerest apologies, good ser.” 

Now, was there a way to salvage the night? He certainly didn’t want to go back to the dull party he’d have generally avoided by making himself scarce. Perhaps he could get Cullen drunk, find out how Carver was inevitably embarrassing himself. Plan already forming in his mind, he stood, making a beeline for the bottle of extremely expensive brandy that had not fallen off a ship, but had instead been imported from Antiva. Might as well go right for the good stuff. 

“Now this is something special,” Hawke said, setting two glasses onto the small table and pulling out the stopper. “Varric swears that it’s made with the tears of Antican Crows, but I’m almost certain he’s lying. Crows don’t cry, after all.” As he poured the brandy into the glasses, he noted the sound of Cullen standing. Fair enough. Hawke had gotten a bit overly chummy on the couch.

The stopper fell onto the table as strong hands grasped his shoulders, spinning him around and pressing him against the wall next to the table. He barely suppressed the urge to throw fire at Cullen, only years of training stopping him. But Cullen wasn’t attacking, far from it. Instead his face was inches from Hawke’s, close enough that he could pick out the individual strands of blond stubble.

“I never said I wasn’t interested in men,” Cullen said, breath hot on Hawke’s cheek. Now this was a different side to the man, much more what Hawke had expected when starting his seductive scheme. He let his head fall back against the wall, grinning at Cullen.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Was Cullen the kind of man who responded well to taunting? He certainly hoped so. 

Teeth bit into his lips, unskilled but confident. So Cullen was fairly inexperienced, but not, it seemed, from lack of interest. From the awkward flirtation earlier, it seemed far likelier that he’d simply lacked the push to take the next step. And maybe no one had simply told the man they were interested. He seemed to be the sort to favor hammering the point home over any sort of delicacy. And in this case, Hawke found he had no objections.

He was also planning on telling Carver all the juicy details about his superior’s secret desires the first chance he got. 

Burying his fingers into Cullen’s curls, he tried to subtly take control of the kiss, guiding him down a slightly gentler path. Not that Hawke objected per se. But he did have to face his mother before the night was out. Better to leave certain things to the imagination. 

With that in mind, he guided Cullen’s head to his neck, where he bit down hard, eliciting a gasp from Hawke. He was almost vampiric in his intensity. Perhaps he should investigate that further. It certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing to transpire in Kirkwall to date. 

Then Cullen pulled back and wrapped his hand around Hawke’s neck. 

“Your father was a mage.”

Hawke swallowed. He really hoped Cullen wasn’t about to try and drag him to the Gallows, because then he’d be forced to defend himself. And this was really a new low for the Templars. Seducing mages to capture them, whatever would Meredith think?

He kept the remark to himself. Despite the feverish intensity in Cullen’s eyes, there was no indication he knew Hawke was a mage. Only that he suspected—something. Which meant it was time to distract him.

“Is this really the time to talk about family?” Hawke said while carefully moving his hand towards Cullen’s waist. When in doubt, go for the dick. True in love and war. Cullen drew in a sharp breath, and his grip relaxed as Hawke managed to get past the obstructing fabric, wrapping his hand around the quite sizable cock concealed there. He gave a tentative stroke, then another with more confidence. 

But Cullen was clearly keen on keeping the upper hand, spinning him again and pressing him against the wall, cock now pressed against Hawke’s ass. Well, he hardly could object to this change of events. 

“Do you have anything?” Cullen said, as he yanked down Hawke’s trousers.

Hawke fumbled for the drawer in the small table the brandy still rested on, pulling out a vial of oil.

“I always come prepared.” 

Tragically Cullen missed the joke, but Hawke choose to take his eagerness as a compliment. He took the vial, and after only a bare handful of seconds, Hawke felt a hard length pressed against him.

“Feel free to get on with the smiting.” 

Cullen groaned at that, the sound changing as he pressed into Hawke. He braced his arms on the wall, leaning forward to get a better angle. Hardly the first time he’d been fucked against a wall. Not even the first time he’d been fucked against a wall by a Templar. He’d gone through a Templar phase when he was younger. Well, ‘gone’ might not be quite the right word.

“Oh, Maker.” He felt Cullen’s stubble rasp against the back on his neck as he pushed in deeper. A bit tight, but Hawke was no blushing virgin. He bucked against Cullen, and felt a thrill at the noise he made. This was definitely far superior to the party. 

A rap at the door, and Cullen forze, still buried deep inside Hawke. 

“It’s locked,” Hawke said, voice low so only Cullen would hear. A kiss pressed against the back of neck, and Cullen began moving again. Ah, that was better.

 

The door handle jiggled, but whoever was attempting entry seemed to give up after that. As if that was some cue, Cullen sped up his pace, holding Hawke firmly in place. It wasn’t like Hawke couldn’t have broken free, turned the tables, but he didn’t particularly want to. Far better to let Cullen to all the work. Well, some of the work. He was being tragically neglectful of Hawke’s own needs. But he could take care of himself. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking to match Cullen’s pace. 

Cullen tugged at his hips, adjusting the angle, and oh, that was much better. He made an encouraging noise as Cullen hit the spot again.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said.

“Really?” Hawke couldn’t help but remark. “Not Andraste’s tits? Maker’s balls?” 

Cullen groaned, though whether it was horror at his language or exasperation with his inability to shut up, Hawke couldn’t be sure. And it didn’t matter, as Cullen increased his speed, pushing in deeper, harder. Oh, he’d feel this in the morning. He was _definitely_ paying Carver a visit 

Cullen bit the back of his neck as he came, muttering another benediction. He held in place for a minute, mouth pressed against Hawke’s neck, then pulled out. 

Before Hawke even had a chance to complain about the lack of reciprocity, Cullen spun him around and kissed him, his hand gripping Hawke’s cock. Again with the biting, but oh, that was nice. Just the perfect pressure. It would be worth all the prying questions he’d get in the morning.

He came, and let himself slump against the wall for a moment.

“Good thing we’re about the same size,” he said, eying Cullen. “I don’t think you meet Templar dress code at the moment. Very blasphemous and worldly.”

Cullen had the gall to blush. After all that, he apparently still had some shame. Well, no matter. Hawke was shameless enough for the both of them.

“Let’s call it a night,” he said with a wink, and nodded at the door leading deeper into the house, where they could get to his bedroom without attracting attention.

He laughed and held the door as Cullen groaned. A fine knight, indeed.


End file.
